To Be Kicked Out or Not To Be?

girls during shot
Originally uploaded by michellechang

As many of you know, I live at home with my two adorable parents. This past Sunday, the three of us were kicked back on the couch, eating cantaloupe and chocolate chip cookies. There was the usual update on how I spent my nights out in SF, what food they ate, and what my friends are up to. But thanks to my ADD and if-I'm-lucky-I'll-remember-snippets-of-information-the-day-after-drinking memory, I recalled a conversation at Young's birthday party. I reported back to the 'rents.

ME: "So a couple friends mentioned to me that they're going to move out to the city."

MOM & DAD: "Oh really, when?"

ME: "I think around September."

MOM: "Oh hmm. Where?"

ME: "I think around Potrero Hill -- at least somewhere in SF that's close to the CalTrain."

DAD: "Oh hmm."

ME: "Yeah, I'm actually considering."

MOM: "Yeah. You should."

That was the end of the conversation. I know, nothing too substantially meaningful. But then again, maybe it was? I think they are ready to kick me out - without actually saying it. But the truth is, I think it's about time.

So we'll see where the whole apartment-hunting effort goes. Maybe my parents will be even more excited to see me out of the home than I will be...? I hope it hasn't come to that. In time, the clouds will part, and the gods will speak.

C'mon, we could all use one

Ppppplef. Bbbbbbleeeehb. Phhhhharrrrrt. Fart. No, not baby noises or wild duck calls. It's actually the cacophony and horrendous symphony that are created from bathroom sounds. Yes -- of those people doing their thing behind closed bathroom stalls. You'll have to strap down and tighten the belt on your olfactory senses -- because some of us just can't hold our breaths past the count of five. And unfortunately, the experience of public restrooms is also one of acoustics.

It was only a few months ago when I discovered the Asian ingenuity of none other than: The Etiquette Bell. At first glance, it appears to be an extraneous yet harmless door bell, stuck prominently above the toilet paper dispenser. During one bathroom break in a Tokyo office building, I happened to begin a typical scan of the stall's interior. Standard bathroom door, check. Soft toilet paper, check. Woa - fancy toilet with lots of buttons and incomprehensible characters...check. And hmm...what's this? A door bell?

I caught myself spending a tad much too time in there. I had flown all this way to Japan, not to write up articles for 'Home & Garden' or Home Depot. Instead, I was here on business. Quickly, I rushed out and went back to the board room.

But I found myself in another bathroom a few days later (after five cups of green tea this will happen to me) -- this time, a Korean one. There it was yet again! A little button with incorrigible foreign lettering, probably reading, 'Please press here immediately!'

This time, I didn't hesitate to push that little button. Like hearing the roar of a lioness for the first time on an African safari, I was astounded but instead, by the sound of tumbling, churning, and rolling water filling my ears. In fact, it almost sounded like, wait! -- like a flushing toilet! Haha! This apparently pre-recorded sound meant to help the current toilet occupant save face -- and her business! Right then and there, I almost burst out in laughter. How simple and amazing -- simply amazing.

I rushed out to let my American colleague in on the secret. She happened to have already tested it. We reached the conclusion that this was a technological addition to just the ladies' room. To save embarrassment from sound and fury, you could unleash your own, pre-produced rendition. The question was, why can't this also be an American phenomenon?

Just this past week, a 1,000 stall bathroom was opened in Chongqing, China. It will be the world's largest, state-run public restroom -- possibly added to the World Guinness Records. I just hope that its builders remembered to install 1,000 of The Little Etiquette Bells That Could.

Surf's Up?

Evening surf
Originally uploaded by michellechang

He tells me to use my arms. I say 'Ok.' He yells out to paddle faster. I try. He screams, 'Go, go, go!' I look behind my shoulder, mouth wide open, with an expression like a maniac butcher is running after me with his bloody knife. I use my arms. I try to paddle fast. But it's too late. I'm swept up in a whirlwind, blind to protect my contacts and deaf except to the violent swirl around me. One somersault and three gulps of salt water later, I'm trying to regain my bearings of ocean versus beach. And I see Adam, riding and waving at me as he surfs the wave that crashed over my not-fast-enough arms and me.

Now multiply this about ten times, and that's how often I've had to live through such agony. "You should surf! It'd be hot!" says my secretly finned, athletic-male-version-of Darryl Hannah boyfriend. Honestly, that is the least of my ambitions. Snorting up salt water and then standing in a puddle of it the next day where it has just decided to release itself from my nostrils is not hot. Thus, I stick to my land sports where vision is clear and oxygen is plentiful.

Speed is my friend and scenery is beauty. When I run, the wind blows and my mind floats free. The sweat drips without shame and geographic orientation is not a concern. When I bike, I smell the curry cooking in a kitchen and the sweetness of almonds on a tree.

It may be obvious that perhaps surfing simply requires more skill. I don't disagree with that; among surfers I know, it does take obstinate and invested disciplined training to ride waves consistently. But am I going to take the dive and do it?

I can't help but relish in the cloudless day when a dozen or so wave-seeking riders are just sitting on their boards, in a seemingly calming ocean. No wonder they say surfers are a chill kind of people. I glance around, and everyone is just looking straight ahead towards the horizon -- hoping, wishing, praying for a good one.

And, well, it is fun. And not many things can beat having fun. By consecutive day three in San Diego, I'm atop the boat of a long board I have, riding waves - if not just for a few precious seconds at a time. I delight in myself, talking to myself, saying "Go, go, go!" and "Wooohoooo!" as I prop myself up on the board and take flight. This is really fun...and...I'm talking to myself. I think I'm beginning to see where I can catch the right wave for me -- all the while trying to paddle just a little faster, for now.

I think I can get used to this and vacation away from land now and again...